


Let It Snow

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas AU, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Meet-Cute, New Year's Eve, Phone Calls & Telephones, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma Simmons' upstairs neighbor attempts to fix the Christmas lights on the roof of their apartment building, snow isn't the only thing that's falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Weather Outside Is Frightful

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from a [list of Christmas AUs](http://unbreakablejemmasimmons.tumblr.com/post/134167030242/blakesmilitiaim-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas) going around Tumblr:
> 
> “i live below you and i was minding my own business watching the snowfall out the window WHEN I SAW A BODY FALL ARE YOU REALLY PUTTING UP CHRISTMAS LIGHTS NOW”

_Oh, the weather outside is frightful…_

Jemma settled down on the sofa by the front bay windows of her apartment with a fresh mug of tea, pulling her throw blanket tighter around her shoulders to keep out the chill. The snow outside was pretty to look at, but it was certainly giving the apartment’s fireplace a workout.

Picking up her tablet from the coffee table, she peeked out the window again. Several inches of snow had accumulated over the past few hours, and she was glad to be safe at home instead of out in the storm. Between the classic Christmas music emanating from her Bluetooth speaker, her mug of steaming hot peppermint tea and the blanketing of white outside, it was shaping up to be a lovely winter evening in.

She had just opened up her e-book app when her attention was pulled by a blur of motion outside the window, accompanied by a high-pitched scream, then a loud thump. She frowned, craning her neck to see out the window, but she couldn’t make out much from her angle. She pushed her tablet and blanket to the side and, after slipping her feet into a pair of boots by the door and donning a jacket, rushed outside.

“Hello?”

“Unnnng.”

Jemma hurried toward the voice, and once she made it around the bushes by the front door, she spotted him-- a man, woefully underdressed for the weather, lying flat on his back in the bank of snow that covered the front garden.

“Are you alright?” She crouched beside him-- he looked to be alive, at least. His eyes were open, though unfocused, and he seemed to be able to move his arms.

“Think so.”

“You think, or you know? Shall I call for an ambulance?”

“No! ‘M fine, ‘m fine.” The man, who looked about her age, with sandy curls (that really ought to have been covered by a winter hat) and glassy blue eyes (though Jemma guessed the glassiness wasn’t their normal state), began to push himself up into a sitting position.

“Don’t move if you think you may be hurt!”

He scowled. Slowly wrenching his neck to either side to crack it, he shook out his hands and wiggled his fingers as if to test them. “I just got the wind knocked out of me, I think.”

Jemma couldn’t fight her frown. “I should think so! Since it doesn’t seem likely that you fell out of thin air, you appear to have fallen straight off the roof! What were you even doing up there, anyway?”

The man bent both knees, pulling them closer to his chest as he sat up straighter. “Fixing the Christmas lights.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “The _Christmas lights_! At a time like this? Why on earth did you feel compelled to put up Christmas lights in the middle of a snowstorm?” She stood up as she spoke, and when the man began to try to stand as well, she immediately grabbed one of his arms and helped hoist him to his feet.

“I wasn’t _putting them up_ in a snowstorm. I’ll thank you to notice those Christmas lights have been on our building all month.”

_Our building_. The man must be her upstairs neighbor, Leo Fitz, who she had somehow heard but not seen during the month and a half she’d lived on the ground floor of the two-story townhome. She supposed he was right-- the beautiful light display had appeared only a couple of weeks after her move, and cheered her considerably when she’d first spotted it one homesick night.  

“Just… let go of me, and I’ll let you get back to your evening.” Jemma realized she had both hands still wrapped around his elbow, though he seemed steady enough. One could never be too safe, though, and she shook her head vehemently.

“Oh, no. You’re coming inside with me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“I’m Jemma Simmons. You’re Leo Fitz, and you may have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a--”

She whirled around and leveled him with a glare. “That is precisely what thousands of concussion victims say each and every year.”

He held up both hands, eyes wide, and began to follow her into her apartment. Once inside, she hung up her coat and stepped out of her boots, then turned to assess him.

“I’d offer to take your coat, but you seem to have thought climbing up on the roof in a snowstorm without one was a smart idea.” She took him by his elbow again and led him to sit on her sofa, and this time, he didn’t resist.

“It’s more of a flurry than anything,” he grumped. “And I didn’t think I’d be up there long. I just had to fix one thing.”

“Mmhmm. Do you have any loss of memory?” She peered down at him from her standing position.

“Um. I don’t think so?”

“Do you remember why you were on the roof?”

“Course. I noticed a section of lights had gone out, and Happy-- that’s the drone I’d programmed to install the display to begin with-- wasn’t able to fix it. I think the receiver up there just has a dead battery is all.”

Jemma furrowed her brow. “You programmed a drone to install your Christmas lights?”  _That's rather ingenious_ , she thought to herself, though she wasn't about to tell him that. It had been part of the reason he'd  _fallen off the roof of a building_ , after all.

“Well… they’re _our_ Christmas lights, aren’t they? You live here, too.”

She breathed out a laugh, then spun around and disappeared into the kitchen. While she rummaged through drawers, he continued.

“Yeah… so…. all I wanted to do was check on the battery, and replace it if need be. Never got that far before I must have slipped on a patch of ice or something.”

Jemma reappeared in the living room with a small flashlight, clicking it on and shining it in his eyes once she was close enough. He recoiled, but let her hold each eyelid open one at a time before shutting the flashlight off. She couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were becoming less glassy already, and appeared an even darker blue in the firelight.

“Are you having any nausea or headache? Issues with light or sound?”

He chuckled. “Well, an issue with light is how I got into this mess, isn’t it?” She stared at him for a moment, but then laughed with only mild exasperation. Perhaps he _was_ feeling alright.

“Well… most of the other ways I know to check for a concussion require me to know what you were like before you took a spill.” She set the flashlight on the mantle above her fireplace and sat down on the sofa beside him. “It’s hard for me to say if you’re experiencing changes in personality or mental state, as I’d never met you before.”

He shrugged. “Fitz.” He offered her his hand, and she took it, shaking it gently. “We’ve not met because I’ve been spending the majority of my time at the lab these past several weeks. I’ve got a project on a tight deadline.”

Jemma’s ears perked up at his mention of the lab. “Are you a scientist as well?”

“An engineer,” he said with a grin. “I head up the department down at MyoLabs.” He cocked his head to the side. "As well?"

Her eyebrows shot up at the mention of his workplace-- her _own_ workplace. “I moved here to work for MyoLabs. I’m in biochem. Also heading up the department. So I have to ask again-- how have we not met?”

Fitz leaned back on the sofa, watching her with his mouth just a bit open, and stroked his stubbled jaw with one hand. “I have no idea, then.” He sat up a bit straighter, gesturing with excitement. “You know, I did hear there was someone new in biochem. Someone brilliant, apparently.” Jemma felt her cheeks pinken a bit at that as he continued. “I was planning to stop up there sometime in the next few weeks to see if we could collaborate on some things I’ve been working on.”

“Oh, really? I’d love that, actually.”

He nodded. “I’ve got some designs that could use some chemical expertise. Just didn’t know all I’d have to do was pop downstairs to speak to the leading expert.”

Jemma laughed, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Well, perhaps next time I need input on a device for something I’m working on, I’ll just come upstairs for a visit.”

His smile was warm and genuine. “Anytime.”

For a long moment, they were both silent. Then the song changed, from a soft Bing Crosby carol to a pulsing Manheimm Steamroller tune. Fitz broke their gaze, looking down at his other hand in his lap. He gestured to the door.

“I guess I should probably head back upstairs now, actually…”

“Oh! Right. Not back to the roof, I hope?”

He shook his head, looking a little bashful. “I think I’ll wait at least until morning to try to fix the lights. Though I’ll have you know I take a lot of pride in that display,” he said, pointing up at the ceiling. “I spent time I should have been working on potentially life-saving projects trying to get the blinking pattern just right.”

Jemma laughed and stood up, holding out both hands to him. He took them and let her pull him up to standing, and it took a few seconds for her to realize she should probably let go. She ushered him to the door.

“Well… I’m not sure I feel completely reassured that you’re concussion-free, but I suppose if you have to…”

“I mean… I suppose no one can ever be _sure_ they’re concussion-free…”

They reached the door, and without a coat or a scarf to grab from the hooks on the wall, Jemma could only reach for the knob to see him out. “Well… I guess I’ll see you--”

“Yikes.”

She followed his gaze to the front stoop-- it seemed the snowstorm (or _flurry_ , as Fitz has called it) had picked up just a tad in the half-hour or so they’d been in her living room. The few inches of accumulation had transformed into a full foot and a half of powdery white, with even more coming down.

“Oh goodness. It’s getting bad out there,” she said, squinting into the swirl of dark and light.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

Jemma took a look at him-- in jeans, a long-sleeved henley and trainers, he’d had no business being out in the snow to begin with. The stairway to his apartment’s entrance was only on the other side of the front garden, but… it was better to be safe than sorry, wasn’t it?

“Stay here.”

“What?”

She nodded resolutely. “Come to think of it, I can’t be sure you’re safe from concussions at all. And I didn’t check your joints for any deleterious effects from the fall.” She closed the front door against the cold wind, leading him back into the living room. Despite having not yet agreed to stay, he followed easily. “I have a fire, and tea, and snacks if you’re hungry--”

“--am a bit, actually--”

“--and honestly I’d just feel much better if I were able to monitor your responses and reactions, for the time being.” She gently pushed him back down onto the sofa. “Between the pair of us, we’ve already made one stupid decision tonight.”

He frowned, then nodded in realization. “My going up on the roof, sure, that’s fair.”

“I’d rather not make another, and send you out into the elements with a possible concussion.”

“Probably for the best, yeah.”

She smiled down at him before retreating toward the kitchen for tea, tossing over her shoulder, “The lights can wait until morning.”

“They can,” he called back.

Jemma hummed as she poured a cup of tea for him, then a new one for herself. The lights could definitely wait until morning. She peeked out into the living room, meeting his eager smile with one of her own. Snug in her cozy apartment, the two of them would be nice and warm until then.

_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow._


	2. My Dear, We’re Still Goodbying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Write more of this," [memorizingthedigitsofpi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi) said. 
> 
> "Okay," I said.

“I made Christmas cookies,” Jemma heard Fitz’s voice call out from the foyer as he shut the front door. “Need a taste-tester.” She chuckled, stowing away the last of the dishes she’d been drying, and met him in the front hallway as he was shutting the door behind him.

“Snow still coming down out there?” she asked, moving to help unwind the scarf from around his neck (since his hands were full of cookies, of course).

“Never bloody seems to stop, does it?”

Jemma peered out the window as she hung his scarf on the coat rack and smiled. The pristine white landscape reminded her of the night they’d met-- _was it really just three weeks ago?_

“Anyway,” he said after he’d put up his coat. “They’re just plain sugar cookies, but the icing’s supposed to be really good. It’s my mum’s recipe.” Jemma followed him into her kitchen, where he put down the plate of cookies and set about making tea like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, she supposed, it had become.

She folded up a set of schematics he’d left on the counter the day before, then unwrapped the aluminum foil that covered the plate of cookies. She couldn’t help but gasp. They were beautiful, intricately decorated with shimmering snowflake designs.

“Fitz, these are amazing. How long did this take you?”

He gave her a sheepish smile, shutting the door to the refrigerator with his hip and setting out the milk for tea. “Awhile.”

She leaned back against the countertop and shook her head at him, unable to fight a fond grin. “It’s endlessly amusing to me how much you love Christmas.”

He frowned at her as he opened a cabinet and pulled down two mugs. “Why?”

“Because you’re such a grump about everything else!”

“I’m not a grump!”

She pinned him with a look. “Fitz.”

“What?” He turned his back to her as he poured their tea, and she knew she’d win this round.

“You nitpick the scientific accuracy of every movie or television show you watch.”

“Yeah, and so do you. So?” He held out a mug of tea to her, made just the way she liked it.

“You complained the whole time we had lunch at the make-your-own-pizza place down the street last week.”

“Well, they’re supposed to do it for you. ‘S what you’re paying ‘em for. And?” He leaned back against the countertop adjacent to her and sipped from his mug.

She sipped the tea he’d handed her, taking a moment to savor the taste. _Perfect_. “The first time I came to visit you in your lab, you equated your lab assistant’s improper handling of your schematics to, and I quote, ‘defacing a Picasso.’”

At this one, he at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’m a grump.”

“But not a grinch.” She reached for a cookie, taking a bite, and her eyes widened at how delicious it tasted. “Mmm, I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said about you,” she said as she chewed, paying no regard to proper courtesy. “Fitz, these are incredible!”

He looked down at the tile floor to hide his smile. “Thank Mama Fitz. It’s her recipe.”

“Still.” She took another bite, and finished chewing and swallowing this time before speaking again. “You know, I wouldn’t have necessarily made a connection between engineering and baking, but there must be something there. You’re too good at this.”

“‘S just precision, really. I’d bet you’re great at it too, what with mixing different chemicals all day.”

She polished off the rest of the cookie, brushing her hands together to rid them of crumbs. “The way you describe me, I’m a mad scientist.” He just chuckled, kicking one heel back to lean casually against her cabinets. She took him in for a moment, this man who had literally fallen into her life three weeks prior, who had somehow slotted neatly into place within it. It was quite a strange feeling, wasn’t it?

“You’ll have to thank Mama Fitz for me,” she said after a beat. “You’ll be seeing her in just a day or so, won’t you?”

Jemma had thought he’d been excited about his impending two-week trip home, the first substantial amount of time he’d be spending back in Glasgow in years, but his face closed up a bit, and a little crease formed between his eyebrows. “Yeah, my flight’s tomorrow, actually. Christmas Eve.”

“Are you packed yet?” Then, before he could even answer, “No, of course you’re not. You were going to wait until tomorrow, weren’t you?” Jemma shook her head, then picked up her tea and the cookies and gestured for him to follow her into the living room. She settled onto the right side of the couch, and he took his usual seat on the left side.

“Well, pardon me for stayin’ up late baking cookies and whipping up a batch of fresh icing from scratch instead of folding shirts and socks,” he said as he got comfortable, but there was no bite to it. They sipped their tea in pleasant silence, and Fitz ate another two cookies before he spoke again. “So, what are you going to do for these next two weeks?”

A moment passed before her lips quirked up into a smile. “What, do you think I’ll be puttering around the house aimlessly, unable to entertain myself without my upstairs neighbor barging in with new designs for me to help him with and drinking all my tea?”

“And bringing you cookies, and helping you brainstorm, and fixing the faulty pressure gauge in your showerhead…” he ticked off a list.

“Alright, alright!” She swung her legs up onto the couch between them, knees bent, and nudged his thigh with her socked toes. “I don’t know. I’ll definitely be Skyping with my parents on Christmas day. I’ve got plans for brunch the day after Christmas with Bobbi, the other biochemist I told you I liked so much. She also suggested we go out for drinks with her boyfriend, so I may wind up with them on New Year’s.” It was hard, moving to a new place as an adult, and Jemma had never excelled at making new friends. She hoped things would go well with Bobbi, though she couldn’t imagine it happening quite as easily or as quickly as it had with Fitz.

Fitz, who was now frowning into his mug of tea.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down!” she said, reaching out to nudge his shoulder with her hand. “I have gobs of reading to do, and it’ll be the perfect time to explore the city-- no traffic!”

He smiled, though she suspected it was just for show. “No traffic in Boston. Won’t that be a sight.”

Propping her elbow on the back of the couch, she watched him for a few spare seconds. “I’ll be fine, Fitz.”

“I know. ‘Course you will.” He cocked his head to the side and grinned at her. “You’re Jemma Simmons.”

“You know who won’t be fine?” she said, changing the subject in hopes that he wouldn’t notice that her cheeks were surely pinker than they had been a minute before.

“Who?”

“You, if you don’t pack your suitcase. Two weeks, Fitz! That takes planning! Packing lists! Precision!”

He rolled his eyes at her even as he stood up from the couch. “Exactly. Precision. Packing’s just like baking and engineering. Y’know how?”

“Hmm…” She stood up too, and they slowly shuffled their way toward her foyer. “You’re really good at all three?”

Fitz nodded happily. “Obviously.” She just shook her head as she watched him put on his coat and wind his scarf back around his neck. She was going to miss this idiot.

“Well… I’ll let you get to it,” she said. He stood with his back to the door, not making a move to leave. After several seconds of inscrutable staring, he reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, then pulled her to him and pressed a kiss to her forehead, right at her hairline. When he drew back slowly, she blinked up at him. “Have a safe trip,” she said, surprised at the softness of her own voice.

“I will.” With a small smile and a brief nod, he turned for the door and stepped out into the snow.

“Fitz?”

He spun around to face her, nearly slipping on the front stoop before righting himself. “Yeah?”

Jemma leaned against the door jamb and tugged her sweater tighter against the chill. “‘Have a safe trip’ means stay off your mum’s roof.”

He laughed, bringing up a hand to scratch at his jaw before turning back to the path to his own apartment. “Goodnight, Jemma.”

“Goodnight, Fitz.”

When she shut the door behind him, she leaned back against it, willing her heart to stop beating so fast and wondering why two weeks suddenly seemed so interminable.

 


	3. The Lights Are Turned Way Down Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now this is going to be four chapters, it would seem? Look for chapter 4 early next week, once I've got my Yuletide fic squared away.

A few minutes past noon on Christmas day, Jemma had just curled up on her new friend’s couch when her phone began to buzz in her pocket. She’d already spoken to her parents at length that morning, so she wasn’t sure whose name to expect on the caller ID.

_Leo Fitz._

She ducked her head to hide a broad smile as she stood up from the couch. “Excuse me, I just have to--” She gestured at the still-vibrating phone. “I’ll be back.”

Once she’d slipped into the nearest room with an open door, which appeared to be a guest bedroom, she answered the call.

“Happy Christmas, Jemma,” said Fitz, and she sank down onto the foot of the bed with a grin.

“Happy Christmas, Fitz.”

“So, how’ve you been?”

Jemma laughed lightly. “I did see you the day before yesterday, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, it just feels like-- longer.”

She nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.

“I hate the thought of you alone on Christmas,” he said after a moment, his voice softer.

“Oh, I’m not, actually! Bobbi found out that I didn’t have any plans for the day and she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted I join her and her boyfriend at their friend Mack’s house for a Christmas lunch, so I’m there now.” She smiled at the memory of Bobbi’s insistent tone that brooked no argument.

“Oh-- well, I don’t want to keep you, then, if you need to…”

“No!” She said it a little too quickly, sitting up straighter on the bed. “No, I mean, Mack’s finishing up the cooking, and he banished us all from the kitchen, anyway. And I was starting to feel like something of a third wheel in the living room with Bobbi and Lance-- that’s her boyfriend.” She lowered her voice like she always did when she was feeling gossipy. “They’re a bit _handsy_.”

Fitz chuckled, and the low sound warmed her all over. “Well I’m glad I called. To give you a respite from too much PDA.”

She grinned and bit her lip. “I’m glad you called, too.”

It wasn’t until much later, when Lance ducked into the room to complain of being famished, that she hung up with Fitz.

  
  


\--

 

Thumping bass in a crowded club wasn’t exactly Jemma’s usual scene, but she found herself having fun with Bobbi and Lance on New Year’s Eve, anyway. She leaned against a tall table near the bar, laughing at Lance’s indignant face as another man tried to dance with his girlfriend. Bobbi, for her part, shooed the man away with little more than a sharp glare.

“Not even eleven and my manliness is already being threatened,” grumbled Lance.

Bobbi rolled her eyes at him, taking a sip of her drink. “Your manliness is threatened most days before breakfast.”

Jemma giggled behind her glass, having learned that sniping at each other was essentially foreplay for the couple. In fact, the look on Bobbi’s face at the moment seemed awfully predatory…

The buzz of her phone inside her clutch drew Jemma’s attention, and she pulled it out, grateful for the interruption. She turned away from the couple and swiped to read the text.

_Leo Fitz [10:54 p.m.]: I wanted to stay up to wish you a happy new year at midnight your time_

_Leo Fitz [10:54 p.m.]: But I don’t know if I can keep my eyes open much longer_

Jemma clutched her phone tighter, smiling fondly at the words on the screen. They’d texted nearly every day in the week since he’d left for Scotland, and she’d sent him a ‘Happy New Year’ message of her own at midnight Glasgow time, right before joining Bobbi and Lance for dinner. She hadn’t expected him to try to return the favor, and it made her feel warmer than she already was from the heat of the busy club.

Biting her lip, she tapped out a reply.

_Jemma Simmons [10:56 p.m.]: Oh no! Go to bed, Fitz. I can’t let you lose sleep over me!_

A response came before she could turn back to see if Bobbi and Lance had gone silent because they were angry, or because they were trying to swallow each other’s face.

_Leo Fitz [10:56 p.m.]: Wouldn’t be the first time_

Then, just as quickly:

_Leo Fitz [10:57 p.m.]: Did you end up going to that club?_

She felt her cheeks heating up from the first text-- was he flirting? He was definitely flirting, wasn’t he?

_Jemma Simmons [10:58 p.m.]: Yes. It’s not so bad! Just a bit crowded, but I’m told there’s an excellent balloon-drop at midnight._

“Jemma, you want another drink?” said Lance behind her. She turned her head to see him shaking the ice in his empty tumbler, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Oh, sure! Thank you.”

As he headed for the bar, Jemma turned back to lean her elbows on the table. As soon as she noticed Bobbi’s narrowed eyes, though, she wished she hadn’t turned back around.

“Who’re you texting?”

“What? I’m not texting.”

Bobbi quirked an eyebrow. “Ah. Just like you weren’t texting under the table at brunch the other day?”

“I wasn’t.” She hadn’t been, really. Fitz had emailed her scans of some new designs he’d been tinkering with. Reading an email wasn’t texting.

“Just like you weren’t on the phone for nearly an hour before lunch at Christmas?”

Jemma felt her face getting hot again. She did feel a bit bad about that one. “At least the food didn’t get cold?”

“Mmhmm,” said Bobbi, crossing her arms. “You’re lucky the potatoes needed that extra fifteen minutes in the oven.”

With a guilty grimace, Jemma shrugged. “I’m sorry. I suppose I have been a bit distracted recently.”

“Who’s got you so distracted?” Bobbi uncrossed her arms, leaning on the table to mimic Jemma’s pose.

“Um--”

Her phone buzzed a few more times, and Bobbi read the screen before Jemma could sneak it off the table. “Leo Fitz, huh? The genius engineer and upstairs neighbor you’ve mentioned ten or twenty times?” She smirked. “I was wondering how long that would take.”

Jemma wanted to ask Bobbi what she meant, but she also wanted to see what Fitz’s latest message said. The latter desire won out.

_Leo Fitz [11:02 p.m.]: You’ll have to send me a pic_

_Leo Fitz [11:03 p.m.]: Of the balloon drop I mean_

_Leo Fitz [11:03 p.m.]: I mean you can be in it too_

_Leo Fitz [11:03 p.m.]: Should be_

_Leo Fitz [11:04 p.m.]: If you want to_

_Leo Fitz [11:04 p.m.]: I’m sorry. I’m so tired._

She didn’t notice Bobbi reading over her shoulder until it was too late. Before Jemma could react, Bobbi stealthily swiped the phone from her hand and held it out in front of both of them, switching it to camera mode.

“Smile!”

She snapped a few selfies of the two of them, then quickly selected the best one, one where Jemma’s smile was wide and genuine and her eyes seemed to sparkle. She handed the phone back to Jemma, giving her the option to send it or delete it.

She sent it.

“Good work,” said Bobbi, taking a cocktail from Lance, who had just returned to the table. He pushed the other one toward Jemma, who sipped it with a grateful nod.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked, taking a long swig of beer.

Bobbi eyed Jemma conspiratorially. “Nah.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she tried to check it more discreetly this time.

_Leo Fitz [11:08 p.m.]: Wow_

_Leo Fitz [11:08 p.m.]: You look really nice_

_Leo Fitz [11:08 p.m.]: Like, really really nice_

_Leo Fitz [11:09 p.m.]: Can’t really hold a candle to that but this is basically me right now_

The messages were followed by a picture, a dim selfie he’d snapped. His head rested on a tartan-printed pillow, and she could make out matching sheets underneath him. He’d closed his eyes and left his mouth hanging open in an exaggerated sleeping face, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

_Jemma Simmons [11:10 p.m.]: Go to sleep, FItz!_

_Leo Fitz [11:11 p.m.]: Ok ok_

_Leo Fitz [11:11 p.m.]: Goodnight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow_

_Jemma Simmons [11:12 p.m.]: Sweet dreams._

Finally, she slid her phone back into her clutch and glanced back up at the others. Bobbi had a knowing smile on her face, and Lance just looked amused.

“Young love?” he asked Bobbi.

Jemma rolled her eyes at him. “Better watch out, Lance. Incoming.” She gestured behind him, where a man in a v-neck t-shirt stood, looking Bobbi up and down with obvious interest.

“Good lord, not again.” Lance slumped over on the table.

“Drink your beer, Lance. I’ve got this one,” said Jemma, reaching out to take Bobbi’s hand and pulling her out onto the dance floor, away from the interloper. The music pulsed and the lights flashed while the women danced, and as the night went on, Jemma felt an exhilarated excitement for the year ahead.

At midnight on the dot, her phone buzzed one more time.

_Leo Fitz [12:00 a.m.]: I made it. Happy new year, Jemma. See you soon._

She smiled all the way home.


	4. When We Finally Kiss Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to SuperIrishBreakfastTea and JustAHint for the last-minute beta, because I'm too impatient to wait hehe.

“His flight gets in at 6:30,” Jemma told Bobbi over the phone, peeking at her latest trial batch of cookies in the oven. She was trying to make a batch as delicious as the ones Fitz had made for her, and they weren’t quite as golden brown as she’d hoped yet. “So I imagine after he deplanes, and picks up his bags, and gets a cab home, he’ll be--”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second, Jemma. You aren’t picking him up at the airport?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “Well… no, I hadn’t planned to.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know, Bobbi, do people really do that these days? For their friends? Fight through traffic and meet them at baggage claim?” She shifted the phone so she could hold it between her shoulder and her ear, slipping on an oven mitt and pulling the cookies out of the oven. Maybe they’d firm up a bit on the counter.

“Of course not.”

“Exactly!” Jemma said haughtily, poking at a cookie impatiently with a fork.

“Not for their _friends_.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean by that,” Jemma said, but there was no real argument in it. Bobbi had spent the week since New Year’s Eve with a knowing smirk on her face that never faded. Even Jemma had had to admit that hers and Fitz’s daily good morning and goodnight texts might have become slightly more than friendly.

“Not for friends. For potential boyfriends? Yeah, they do. For someone they might possibly be a little bit in love with?Uhh--”

“Bobbi, stop that,” Jemma protested, an involuntary little smile on her face as she brought a hand up to brush against her lips, cheeks heating a bit.

“--They do.”

“Well....” Jemma frowned, shooting a quick glance at the clock above the oven. “I suppose I _do_ have time to pop over to the airport. He’s in the air now, so he won’t know to look for me--”

“You can make one of those signs! ‘Seeking Mr. Leo Fitz’ or something like that.”

Jemma nodded slowly as the idea began to appeal to her. “Yeah. I could. And maybe I could bring him flowers?” She winced. “No, that’s rubbish. Do women even buy men bouquets of flowers?”

Bobbi snorted. “I got Hunter a bouquet of condoms once.”

Jemma flushed at the thought of her thrusting a fistful of condoms at Fitz in the middle of a crowded baggage claim. Perhaps she didn’t have to take _all_ of Bobbi’s suggestions. “No, you’re right, though. This is a good idea.”

“I know I’m right.”

Switching off the oven, Jemma bustled around the kitchen, deciding the cookies could continue to cool on the countertop and frosting the earlier batch could wait. Perhaps even until morning.

“Okay, let’s see,” Jemma muttered into the phone as she spun around in a circle. “What do I need to do?”

“Grab your purse and your keys and go?”

“No!” She hurried down the hall to her bedroom, flicking on the light and stepping in front of her vanity mirror. “I should do something to my hair, shouldn’t I? And put on some makeup?”

“If you want,” offered Bobbi, “but I highly doubt he’s going to care how your hair looks. Or how many coats of mascara you’re wearing.”

Jemma nodded. She knew Bobbi was right, but even so, she snagged her favorite lipgloss from the top drawer and hastily applied a coat.

“Time’s a-tickin’,” prodded Bobbi. After one last quick smile at her reflection in the mirror, Jemma turned off the light and retreated to the kitchen. She picked up her purse from the counter and glanced around the room to make sure she hadn’t left any major appliances on, before heading toward the front door.

“Okay. I’m leaving now. I should get to the airport with plenty of time to find his flight’s baggage carousel,” she said, voice muffled as she wrapped a scarf around her neck. She pulled on her coat, passing the phone from one hand to the other as she did so.

“Do you know what you’re going to say to him?”

That gave Jemma pause. “Probably just ‘hello, Fitz?’”

“Mmhmm.”

She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have the drive over to think of something more clever.”

“Or you know, who knows,” said Bobbi. “A ‘hello, Fitz’ might be all it takes. He’s pretty smitten.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve never even met him.”

“I don’t have to. It’s that obvious. Okay, now go!”

“Okay, okay! Wish me luck! Call you later!”

“Call me tomorrow,” Bobbi corrected.

“Call you tomorrow,” Jemma affirmed, biting back a giggle. She ended the call and slipped her phone into her coat pocket, tugging her purse higher on her shoulder and pulling the front door open to reveal the swirling January snow, and--

“Hello, Fitz,” she breathed at the sight of the man standing in the snow in front of her.

“Jemma!” A smile split his face as he pulled his luggage the rest of the way up the walkway toward her door, where he’d obviously already been heading. Jemma’s eyes were wide, her surprised breaths coming out in little wintry puffs.

“What are you doing here? I thought your flight didn’t get in until 6:30?”

He shrugged, his gaze sliding from hers to the brick of her front stoop, hidden under a thick layer of snow. “Yeah… it was supposed to. But I, um, booked an earlier flight.”

“Oh!”

He looked back up at her, and they just stared at each other for a long moment, both smiling at each other. Finally, Jemma shook her head quickly, realizing she was just inside the doorway while he was still standing outside with all his luggage in the snow.

“You still have all your bags with you! And they’re getting snowy!”

“Oh--” He glanced at his roller suitcase and duffle over his shoulder, then back at her sheepishly. “Yeah, I didn’t even think about-- I can just go and take ‘em upstairs, then come back down and-- I just wanted to--”

“No, no, come in now! You can leave them in here and just take them upstairs later.” She stepped aside and he pulled his bags into her foyer, lining them up neatly against the wall beside the coatrack. She unwound her scarf and slipped out of her coat as he did so. When he stilled, just looking at her for a beat, she reached up and began to pull off his own scarf. She hung it on the hook right beside hers, making a mental note of how complementary the colors were.

“I’m sorry, were you on your way out?” he asked, pausing with his coat in his hands.

“Oh!” She laughed breathily. “No, I was going out, but-- there’s no point now.”

He frowned, hanging up the coat and following her into the living room. They sat down on the sofa, their knees angled in toward each other.

“I was actually... “ She tucked her hair behind one ear, feeling oddly nervous. “I was coming to pick you up from the airport. So it’s good that you got here when you did, otherwise--”

“You’d have been there.”

“And you’d have been here.”

He chuckled, looking down. “I suppose I should have told you I was moving my flight up by a couple of hours.”

“Oh, there was no need to keep me informed; it was a spur of the moment thing, Bobbi’s suggestion, really.”

“Well, it’s just, I moved up my flight so I could see you sooner,” he said, meeting her eyes and letting out a shaky breath after he did. “So. It would have been a shame if I’d done all that and then you’d been… not here.”

Jemma swallowed, her breathing coming in a little bit faster. “Oh.” She scooted closer to him on the loveseat.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I just felt like two weeks was--”

“--far too long?”

His smile grew. “Yeah. Felt like forever.”

“I completely agree.” Jemma bit her lip as Fitz moved closer to her on the couch, tentatively reaching out his hand to cover hers where it rested on her thigh. She flipped her hand over and threaded their fingers together. He stared down at their hands for a moment before looking back up at her, his eyes bright.

The wind outside howled, drawing their attention away from each other briefly. “Nasty weather outside,” said Jemma.

“Yeah,” said Fitz, turning back to her. “Snow’s coming down hard. Seems like we could be stuck inside for a bit.”

Her smile grew, and she tugged her hand from his grip to slide it up his arm, to his shoulder, along his neck to rest on his jaw, pulling him closer.

“Good,” she whispered as her eyes slipped shut and she pressed her lips softly to his, relishing in the feeling that it was going to be a very, very good year.

It was three days before Fitz’s luggage finally made it upstairs to his apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to be friends on Tumblr? I'm [unbreakablejemmasimmons](http://unbreakablejemmasimmons.tumblr.com/) over there!


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